


Hidden in the Sand

by yescupid



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Other, platonic, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yescupid/pseuds/yescupid
Summary: As summer falls, the heat, along with a promise to his friend, pressures George into visiting the fabled fugitive all have grown to fear. Since his arrest, George hadn't worked up the courage to face the one he was inevitably afraid of, the one he once considered his best friend. Now, he battles away his remorse and swallows his tongue for the sake of the prisoner who once begged to see George again.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Hidden in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is a head-canon of mine centered around George's visit to Dream in Pandora's Vault. I built it around the song, "Hidden in the Sand" by Tally Hall which I encourage you to give a listen before reading, although it is not required! However, I do think it will help you gather the emotion I was reaching for. I was hoping to combine the ominous and threatening personality of the Pandora's Vault with the light-hearted melody of Tally Hall's song. My inspiration came from a classic movie cliché of the camera panning down a dark hallway or building with a cheery song playing behind it.
> 
> My hope was that the reader would be able to take Dream and George's relationship in this short story as they wanted, romantic or platonic, so I did not particularly lean one way or the other. "Hidden in the Sand" is depicted as a love song, as clearly indicated in its lyrics, but I wanted to provoke another meaning Tally Hall didn't intend, something sinister. 
> 
> You, as the reader, has the opportunity to come to your own conclusions in regards so the intention of the song, and the relationship between Dream and George and I want to encourage that idea. Please, let me know what you think, and how you prefer to view my story. I would love to hear your ideas!

Summer swathed The Greater Lands, embracing the world with a kind warmth. The air smelled of pollen and fresh rainfall, the world singing of bird melody and laughter. While the season’s kind eyes peered over the valley and graced its people with a new light, not even the blissful glee of summer could skim over the vast crater that festered in the center of the realm that once promised something long lost: hope. Only a figment of it remained, a mindless delusion many now depended on. 

While the world bore many scars, the monstrosity that was the Warden’s keep was one that always seemed fresh each time its walls could be seen blemishing the horizon. Although mysterious, it was far from beautiful. It stood tall in the painful significance of the control that still hung over their heads despite the tyrant who now dwelled within it. Many referred to it as Pandora’s Vault: the last sanction of the world’s horrors where they’d remain under lock and key. Others preferred to refer to it more simply, denying it of such an important title. They would call it The Prison. 

Sweat beaded on the forehead of the boy who stood idly at the first gates to the bastille. His hair grew slick and clung to his forehead, his glasses beginning to press uncomfortably against his temples. The blackstone chamber that sat idly on the shore, the ocean’s murky waters lapping against its sleek ebony brick, was nothing compared to its sister building that sat dormant in the center of the sea. Stood frozen in the doorway, his feet seemed to fuse to the tile. The hot sun slid down his back behind him, and the chill of the purely stone structure bathed his front. He was fixated only on his distorted reflection that quivered upon the surface of the portal that lay before him. 

George had always been built to be nimble, but now, he looked pathetically small. The hollow shell which stared back at him seemed solidified in time, a version of himself he didn’t recognize, or someone different completely. He’d lift two hands to adjust his glasses, alleviating some of the pressure the plastic carved into the bridge of his nose. They felt unusually heavy. This weight fell onto his shoulders, a burdensome guilt that coiled around his torso like a python and carried his worries into his ear on a flickering forked tongue. He wanted to turn away. He wished to return to the confines of the woodland homestead he and his friends had begun, but he had a promise to fulfill. 

Stepping forwards, the brisk smell of saltwater was overturned to something new. The portal used to bring someone to the prison reeked of carcass and smoke, summoning a cough in his throat as he braced himself, pressing a palm to its sheen purple surface. It wound around his hand, tainting his pale skin. The world became a blur of color and nausea as he forced himself through, the familiar sobs and whimpers of the red-dimension briefly noticeable. 

A dazzling screen of amethyst light enveloped the foyer. Particles flitted across the floor as hot air ushered through, battering the translucent threshold and creating ripples across its surface. Each began small and circulated outwards one by one, wavering beneath the fire’s breath of the other side. A small pocket watch sat on the broad desk in the room’s center. The Warden, unbothered by the portal’s gurgle, monitored each passing tick, his mouth falling into a thin line of slighted impatience. He barely inclined his chin as footsteps met the floor and the familiar face of an old friend phased through the dimensional gate. 

George pressed an index finger and thumb to his temples, grumbling as dark flecks danced across his eyes from the blinding light, swallowing down the bile that rose in his mouth. He paused before the desk, eyes crinkled from the might at which he kept them closed. He was thankful for the penitentiary’s cold climate which eased his nausea and soon he would adjust his glasses and drop his hand to his side, marveled by the tall brick walls that encased him, colored black, and the stoic figure that waited for him to find his bearings. 

“Welcome, George. I hope the trip here was alright?” The Warden questioned yet his attention did not leave the book he skimmed. 

“It was okay.” George spoke admittedly. Walking along the shoreline had been nice. Once he had stopped to gather a fistful of sand and allowed it to slip through his fingers. It had felt like silk as it fled his grip and dribbled to the ground. 

“Good, good.” The Warden responded and with a brisk gesture a book appeared on the visitor’s side of the desk, opened to the beginning pages of some dreadful slew of words of which George would have to read and then sign his life away to, a contract of promise that he’d be held accountable during his visit to Pandora’s Vault. George swallowed, drawing a deep breath, before beginning to read. 

The contract was unnecessarily long, his mouth running dry by its end as he followed each line down to the bottom of the last page, a finger running over the names who had too signed away themselves to The Warden before him. 

_ Tommy, Badboyhalo, Ranboo, Sapnap.  _

Each name felt sharp beneath his index finger as though protruding from the page. He whispered each beneath his breath, the final fleeing him twice: the friend he had promised this visit to, not to the one locked away inside. 

“That was a bit excessive, don’t you think?” George attempted a jocund comment, a hollow chuckle escaping gritted teeth. There was no response. 

“Step into locker one.” The Warden directed, shifting backwards to lean his fist against a square button, one of the several lining the opposing wall. The wall to the left rumbled and slid back into a doorway which gaped into a narrow corridor. “Inside, you’ll see a chest in which you will put all of your belongings, and a key to lock it.” 

“Right.” George said, flippant as he strode to the little doorway. It was dark, cold, the only light seeping into the locker from the foyer, a dismal glow. The chest was blanketed with a thin layer of dust that clung to his fingers as he fiddled with the lock. Depositing his few personal belongings inside and locking it shut, he then returned to the foyer to see the expectant face of the Warden, his fingers curled around the locker key in his pocket. 

“Ready?” The stone-faced man asked, adjusting his glove at the wrist. Without waiting for a response, he turned and lifted a particularly large lever on the wall of various buttons, levers, and indicators. Another hidden door lifted to reveal a broader corridor. George followed behind, gripping either arm against the chill that ebbed the hall. Goosebumps rose along his skin, creating a prickling sensation across his forearms. 

He entered the first chamber and was avidly examined. It was imperative that George had not kept anything on him. After being successfully cleared, the visitor and the Warden pushed forwards, down the vast hallway. Despite how horrifying the confines were, its inner walls of black brick and white marble pedestals held a certain grace. Their footsteps thundered upon the floor, George's hesitant trod was in contrast to the Warden’s ominous gait. Pandora’s Vault seemed to embrace its guard, catering to each fallen step. It sounded as though it was humming, a melody ushering down the corridor. 

Following further examination and another contract signed, the final corridor stretched before them, the bubbling heat of the molten walls surrounding the holding cell drifted down the hall. The golden glow of the magma blanketed the dark confinery, however it was far from a sweet-honey light and mimicked a volcanic iridescence. Violent and unruly, the lava was the accompanist to a lighter, more fluid sound. 

_ We were playing in the sand  _

_ And you found a little band  _

The melody wound around George, just barely heard over the sizzling of lava. The source, a warm toned voice, sounded brassy. Teeming with solemnity, each word was hauntingly hollow while still filled with the illusion of hope, a common characteristic among the many tired faces he’d come to know. 

“Sam?” George questioned the Warden. “What is that?” 

“What is what, George?” Sam questioned, gesturing to a stone platform at the far end of the room. “Stand there, please.” 

_ You told me you fell in love with it  _

_ Hadn’t gone as I planned  _

It was unbelievably uncharacteristic. The light-hearted tune, reminiscent of something hummed on summer nights, snaked through the corridors of the Prison and its shadowed glory. Pandora’s Vault boomed in response, a deep, dark hum ricocheting from its walls in echo to the jovial hymn. Such sweet words seemed unsettling in a place such as this. George stepped onto the platform, peering into the wall of magma. 

_ When you had to bid adieu  _

“You don’t hear it?” George questioned, his hands growing white-knuckled from how hard he clutched either arm, half-moons carved into his skin from the brunt of his nails. 

_ Said you’d never love anew  _

“Oh, the song.” Sam barely glimpsed upwards, thumbing through a leather-backed book as the curtain of flame began to lower. “That’s the prisoner.” 

George suddenly felt the blood flee his face, his cheeks running pale. He chewed on his lower lip and finally unlatched from the embrace he held on himself, rubbing his palms together. Each hand was cold, clammy, and his fingers trembled. 

“He sings?” George swallowed. 

“Sometimes. Be careful, I’m about to move the platform.” Sam spoke briskly. “Stay in its center and do not look down. Once you cross, I’ll lower the gate so you can speak to the prisoner.” 

_ I wondered if I could hold it  _

_ And fall in love with it too _

The magma gave way, swinging back into a curtain as the platform lurched forwards. It creaked and his toes curled in his shoes, the gaping pit beneath him suddenly apparent as the stone platform rolled along the track, suspended in air. The magma’s heat that engulfed him licked his skin and he heaved a breath beneath the thick air. The central holding cell, the one destined to hold someone as dangerous as the source of the honey-laden lyrics, lay in the center of the lava-filled room. Walled with a similar dark brick, its front was left open, walled by a metallic gate that was soon to be dropped. 

The silhouette of an all too familiar figure could be seen dwelling inside. He was hunched over, sat in the center of his cell. His elbows rested on either knee, one hand lifted to lazily dawdle back and forth in a rhythmic motion in accordance to the hymn he sang. His head was lowered, once lively eyes adorned with dark circles and lacked a former gleam. However, they still scanned the floor with a familiar calculation, constantly observing, constantly surveying. 

_ You told me to buy a pony  _

_ But all I wanted was you _

The track beneath George groaned and the prisoner’s song flooded his senses. It was a husky impression of the triumphant laughter he used to utter after each victory, but still maintained his fluid confidence. He gazed upon his friend. He looked thin, any muscle tone he had built lost. His hair was bedraggled, and his cheeks were sunken in. Burns scarred his hands and arms from time after time of reaching into the molten curtain. The lyrics of the song drifted into a hum, repeating the melody in a string of elongated notes. 

The platform latched onto the cell and George hesitantly stepped off. The track squealed and the platform began to drift backwards, the waterfall of lava returning to fall before the entrance. George turned, his heart fluttering, trapped inside his ribcage. It too seemed to slam into his chest as the gate abruptly fell, leaving nothing but open air between him and his old friend. 

“Hi, Sam.” The prisoner purred, a smile tugging at his lips, seen beneath the curtain hair that fell over his face, head bowed towards his chest, eyes unmoving from the ground. He paused his words to continue his absent hum, the sound rumbling within his chest. “Is it dinner time already?” 

George remained silent as the figure stood, lifting either arm over his head into a bone-wrenching stretch, a series of clicks and pops slipping from his shoulders. The grin that peeled at his mouth was oddly amused, tilted upwards at one end. His smile hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only grown to be more terrifying. More feline. 

“Well?” The prompt abruptly fell to silence as his eyelids lifted, any trace of that eerie content vanishing within a heartbeat’s drum. He blinked, his expression slackening into one of horrified shock at who stood before him. Each arm dropped, his lips parted in a silent search for words. George only averted his attention, eyeing the books and torn pages that littered the floor, some adorning words, others showing nothing but scribbled smiles. A clock ticked to their left, a golden hand spiraling slowly with each passing moment the prisoner and his friend remained silent. 

“Hello, Dream.” George greeted, hesitantly taking in his unraveling expression which wavered between disbelief and glee. His wild eyes grew similar to a desperate animal and despite how close he was, he seemed untouchable. 

Unprepared, George stumbled backward at the impact of the fugitive. He became tangled in Dream’s embrace, his face crammed against his chest. George’s arms hovered around him, afraid to make contact. Yet there was something comfortingly familiar about being in his grip and he’d succumb to returning the hug. 

“He promised me you’d come.” His words were wistful, carried on a deflated breath as he drew backwards, his eyes tracing his every feature in lost belief. 

George felt as though he’d been thrown into the lion’s den. 

“Here I am.” He said. Lowering his glasses, he used his shirt to polish either lens. The corners of his mouth folded into a frown of concentration as he wiped away the perceived scuff marks. Satisfied, he attempted to lift them back to the bridge of his nose, only to be stopped by Dream’s fingers curling firmly around his wrist. George, startled, could only compare his desperate expression to that of an excitable child. 

Funnily enough, so many used to be afraid of him. Are still afraid of him.

“I’m sorry, I just haven’t seen you in so long.” A breathy laugh deflated in Dream’s chest, his fingers slowly unfurling from his friend’s arm. And George, however reluctant, would settle on sliding the goggle-like lenses onto the top of his head. Dream seemed content. 

“How have you been?” George swallowed, watching as the predator moved to lean against the far wall, gliding across the collection of discarded books strewn across the floor. 

“Good, good. Have you seen my clock?” Dream tossed his hands gleefully into an exaggerated gesture towards the golden clock that still ticked away, a display of half day and half night painted across the front in indication to what the sky may appear to be outside, beyond the penitentiary. It showed signs of once beautiful craftsmanship but was now dented and scratched from countless flights across the holding cell. “It tells me when the sun’s out, George. And the hands, they tick when they turn.”

“It’s a very nice clock, Dream.” He responded, surveying the countless inflictions that dotted his friend’s hands and arms. Each burn and cut laced into his once clean complexion made George’s stomach churn. “You look… thin. Are you eating okay?” 

“Sam feeds me.” Dream nodded, picking away at a scab with a dirt-caked nail, blood bubbling upon his skin of which he wiped away with his thumb. He inched from the wall, methodically combing through the books upon the floor as though they were somewhat organized. He picked one up, thumbing through it before settling on a preferred page. “He gave me books too. To write in. See?” 

George leaned forwards to catch a better glimpse of the doodles scrawled into the page: a flurry of Dream’s infamous smiles, ones George has seen countless times before. But now, they no longer seemed like the innocent pictures they used to draw on their hands in marker, but were now only hollow eyes accompanied by emotionless smirks. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” George attempted to further the conversation, watching as Dream gently replaced the book onto the ground, in the same spot he had placed it before, arranging it into a similar position. 

“I would enjoy my freedom, more. I miss you, George.” 

A somber silence filled the void between them. It seemed louder than the sizzling magma, more daunting than Pandora’s Vault itself. His words echoed in his ears, a crestfallen display of the pain George believed Dream kept behind impenetrable walls. Walls with armed soldiers at every turn. Walls crafted of obsidian stone. Walls that George could never infiltrate, nevermind attempt to now. 

“I miss you too. We all do.” His words were a foreign whisper, scratchy in his throat. The syllables were raw, distant. They didn’t sound like him. 

The grin that flickered across Dream’s face was enough to mask starlight and suppress the march of a thousand storms. George half expected him to pounce, but he did not. He only wavered. He blinked. He lifted a hand to rub the emotion from his face, his chest compressing as a breath ushered from his lips, one he had been holding for too long. It shook and he crumpled like a leaf held to flame. 

“I tried. And I tried.” Dream murmured, bringing both hands up in a helpless motion. His eyes had grown bloodshot and ran glossy. “I tried to get out. To be free. To go home.” 

“The vent doesn’t have enough hold for me to climb.” Dream turned towards the far corner of the cell, gesturing towards the open vent in the ceiling, just as dark and impending as the rest of the Prison. He pointed with a quivering hand before whirling back to George, thrusting his palms towards him. Both were pink, irritated, and raw. He then gestured to the curtain of magma that seethed and broiled in response. “I burned myself, over and over, trying to reach the platform when Sam would come. I thought if I could push him off that I could…”

George was watching not just one man but an entire army crumble into insanity before him. Tears began to dribble down his face, drip from his chin, hiccups slid from his lungs. Dream the tyrant, Dream the conqueror, the hunter, the nightmare. These titles were once displays of the prisoner’s horrifying feats of strength and maniacal hunger for control. But now, as seemingly helpless as a child, he shriveled beneath the raging summer sun. 

“I want to go home” 

“Dream…” George reached for him, reached for those walls. 

“I want to be free. I will be free. You’ll help me, won’t you, George?”

“I won’t.” 

His words were taught like someone had yanked at a line of thread, each word trembling and straining to remain together. George blinked and his throat tightened. Dream didn’t move away but didn’t advance either. He only stilled, enthralled in the void of their hapless conversation. The world seemed to circle him slowly and only breathed when he did. His lips parted to speak and George braced himself for the wave of anger he was to receive only to face silence. He was standing on the edge of a cliff in open air with his arms out, ready for the plunge, but he never fell. 

Dream’s silence was proof enough that he understood. While perceived as the villain of their story, he was empathetic enough of his friends to value the lengths they’d go for him and the distance they wouldn’t. And while George’s heart ached as Dream pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and allowed a ragged inhale, while he too craved for Dream’s return home, he knew that his friend’s boundless hunger and ambition was better kept behind that broiling wall of magma.

“What were you singing before?” George asked, his voice teetering on a tabletop of glass. He watched Dream flinch, his gaze unmoving from the dark floor. A tuned hum riled in his throat and he ran his hands through his plume of blonde hair, pausing when snarls choked his fingers. A laugh caught his breath. It was hoarse, but delicate, similar to his laughter that was left along with the life he lived before imprisonment. Beneath its jagged, broken-glass edges, the sound was as sweet as lavender flowers. It was an utterance that did not belong in this world of blackstone and lava-light. 

_ We were playing in the sand _

Dream began to sing again, slower than before, giving a little sway as a youthful smile schooled his features into something wondrous and new. His cheeks no longer seemed hollow, his eyes bright. He seemed fuller, rejuvenated. George couldn’t help the smile that overtook him and he crossed his arms as he watched his friend pat his leg in time with the jubilant lyric. 

_ And you found a little band _

The song reminded him of the shoreline. With the sand beneath his feet, the wind in his hair, and the sea salt on his tongue. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was why Dream enjoyed it so much. Perhaps it led him back to summer nights by the water when the waves swarmed their feet and starlight kissed their sand-dusted skin. 

_ You told me you fell in love with it  _

_ Hadn’t gone as I planned  _

The clock on the wall ticked, its hand placement significant to when George would have to leave and Dream would be left to solitude once more. 

_ When you had to bid adieu  _

“Dream.” George said, taking a wavering step backwards towards the entrance, feeling the hot wind of the lowering curtain of lava brush against the back of his neck.  __

_ Said you’d never love anew  _

Dream only grinned and stepped forwards. There was something lighter about the words he sang. While still somber, they held an ignited glee but the familiar emptiness of defeat. 

_ I Wondered if I could hold it _

_ And fall in love with it too _

He lifted both hands into the gesture of playing an invisible guitar, his left hand strumming across his stomach and George swore he could hear each pluck of the delicate strings, see the gleam of the guitar’s wood. 

_ You told me to buy a pony  _

_ But all I wanted was you  _

Laughter parted the soft melody. The platform clicked into place at the exit. Dream lifted his hand into a subtle wave, and George returned it with a smile that bloomed colorfully over his lips. He stepped onto the platform, planting his feet as it rolled back, beginning the treacherous journey across the pit. 

Dream’s dawdling hum swelled around him, fading into the background. Its lowly sound rang amidst the prison. The waterfalls of magma that walled him spit and sizzled, radiating in their volcanic glow, but something about them slowed. They purred, the incessant waves of heat that radiated from their surfaces seemed similar to a warm breath, rather than the hateful gusts of burning wind they were before. The prison too, seemed calmer. It crooned to the fugitive’s song, shades of dark blues and purples prominent within the dark brick. 

Pandora seemed to careen to the beautifully velvet hum, its very foundation swaying with each incantation of his voice. The Warden, as terrible as he seemed, couldn't help the smile that quirked at the corners of his mouth seeing George’s own face ignited with a grin that brought color to his once pain-wrought features. 

Even George was pleased to find himself humming the dulcet tune of summer reminiscence as he wandered down the corridor. 

**Author's Note:**

> As this is my first post, I cannot say I'll post again, but there is always the possibility that I will, and I do hope to! 
> 
> If you have made it this far, thank you for reading! I'd love to hear feedback as this is something I'm experimenting with.


End file.
